Love and Animagi
by sk987
Summary: Ginny and Blaise return to finish schooling three years later. Escapades and drama ensue. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Ginny didn't want to be here again. During the war, she had only managed to make it though the first term before she was taken home for her safety; even Hogwarts hadn't been safe for those sympathetic to Muggles. Headmistress McGonagall, however, had seen fit to advance her on to seventh year despite her partial completion of sixth. Ginny was nervous. NEWTs were this year and she didn't have as much of a basis for this year's undoubtedly difficult curriculum.

'I'll just have to work extra hard. There's no way I can let my family down,' Ginny thought to herself as she packed her trunk.

Despite her family's increased wealth following the war, Ginny had opted to buy most of her things used – old habits die hard. One of the few concessions was a new wand. After the final battle, her old one (which was her mother's before her) had stopped working as well. As old Ollivander says, 'the wand chooses the wizard,' and Ginny wasn't the same wizard anymore. Her wand, the first new one she had ever owned, was now laying on her bed among scattered spellbooks and bottles of ink. Ebony, twelve and a quarter inches, strung through with dragon heartstring. An excellent wand for transfiguration, Ollivander had told her several weeks before. Firm, but not brittle, and lacking the springiness customary of wands meant for charmwork. It was the wand of a fighter. And, after all these years, Ginny was a fighter, wasn't she?

Ginny stood up to grab the last of her books, packing them in her trunk. She was signed up for NEWT level courses in Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Ancient Runes. Her mother was mildly upset that she hadn't decided to continue with Charms, but Ginny wasn't too impressed with what she had learned during her sixth year, which was almost three years ago (the war and rebuilding of Hogwarts had lasted so long and hurts so many). Although all of the teachers had approved Ginny's advancement, she had chosen only those subjects that interested her the most, and opted for only five classes of the usual six or seven that most took to ensure passage of at least a handful of NEWTs. It would be better to have a manageable course load and NEWT in all of them rather than be so stressed about the amount of work and falling behind in more classes and end up failing all of them. Her father understood her take on the situation, but Molly Weasley, as ever, expected much more of her only daughter. As the youngest of seven (five – she had to keep reminding herself, painfully, as both Fred and Percy had died in the war), Ginny was expected to meet the standards they had set. Head Boy, reckless world savior, genius pranksters, prefect, teacher's pet. In some respects, perhaps she would: in addition to her advancement, Ginny had also been named Quidditch Captain. Charlie and Ron were so proud, but Ron's excitement for her was somewhat tempered by jealousy – Ron had never had a shot at Captain. He was a decent player, but he had no mind for strategy despite his skill on the chessboard. Charlie had been Captain several years ago, however, and Ginny was all the more excited to tell him about her appointment, though it meant the tough competition of having to live up to her brother's reputation.

Thinking of Quidditch brought her to her next concession, one of the few new things Ginny bought. She had intended to buy a new broomstick to replace her family's old Comet 260, a Nimbus model perhaps. However, Harry Potter had insisted on contributing funds – the two of them had left Quality Quidditch Supplies with an early model Firebolt. There were several newer models, but the broom was more than adequate for Seeking. As a Seeker, catching the Golden Snitch required speed and agility – qualities lacking in the Comet line. As a Chaser several years ago, it had served her well, but as she was phased into the position of Seeker her fifth and sixth years, a new broom was needed. The shiny-handled broom was currently leaning against the wall next to her door, ready to grab when she left in the morning.

Ginny finished packing quickly – haphazardly tossing in the last of her clothes and supplies, snapping shut the lid of her trunk, Charlie's before her. She stroked the smooth surface affectionately (smooth except where Fred and George had taken a kitchen knife to Charlie's initials, turning the C into a G, so young Ginny would finally feel as if she had something of her own), then stood, working out a crick in her back. It was around dinnertime, and Ginny would be missed if she lingered any longer over crumpled quills and mismatched socks.

A little dusty from packing and cleaning, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where her mother had cooked some of her favorite foods. Ron and George were there; her other brothers were always busy with work, and Charlie was still in Romania, working with dragons. George's wife-to-be, Angelina Johnson, smiled warmly at Ginny from next to her brother as they sat down to eat.

The train was far less crowded than Ginny had anticipated, and that saddened her as she slid into one of many empty compartments. So many had died in the war. Classmates. Their families. A large number of parents had chosen to send their children abroad this year, hoping them safer far away from the rebellion that still went on in most of the country. Britain was still suffering the aftershocks of the war – mistrust, fear. Attacks were still common, though the killings were almost half-hearted, but the result was the same. So many left dead. The student body of Hogwarts, normally around three hundred, had dwindled to little more than half that size. There appeared to be no more than two hundred students, at best, on the Hogwarts Express. People were still so afraid. Ginny didn't blame them; she was still afraid sometimes.

Granted, Ginny had inside information that the general populace didn't, the details on what exactly brought about the downfall of the evil Lord Voldemort, but it didn't stop her from fearing for her family. The Weasley's involvement during the war had brought them unexpected fame. All members of the Order of the Phoenix had received compensation for their superb efforts to bring down the Dark Lord. Orders of Merlin, First Class were handed out. Ginny herself had received one for her capture of several Death Eaters. Promotions, pay raises, unexpected donations of thanks from supporters. It all ensured the Weasleys' rise above the poverty they had previously been living in. they were no longer living solely from Galleon to Galleon. They were able to save now, and Ginny had pocket money for the first time in her life. Yet she still saved it – her life of less than luxury was still fresh in her mind; she didn't want to grow too dependent on her new lifestyle.

Ginny moved to wave out of the train window at her mother, who had come to see her off, even though Ginny had come of age early on in the war. Since the war, her magic had undergone a major upheaval. Not only had her wand stopped working, but she felt like she was eight again. Odd things kept happening around her, like she was an untrained wizard with no control over her magic. Exploding bottles, things falling and sparks flying. It was strange, and Ginny was hoped that getting a new wand would put a stop to it. Things had been settling down, and she just assumed that she was adjusting to her new magic, her new power that she had tapped into during the war.

Ginny broke out of her contemplation of the past three years when the door to her compartment slid open slowly, revealing an airy girl – a woman now. The war had forced everyone to grow up a bit. Thankfully, the blonde in front of her had not lost her whimsical nature and carefree attitude. Yes, Luna Lovegood had grown up, but not too much. The summer had taken its toll on her, however. She was a little thinner, a little more ragged. Luna had been kidnapped during the war, and you could see it in the way she carried herself that a little of her innocence had been destroyed during that time. Ginny had also heard that Luna's father had taken ill just a couple of weeks ago, and leaving him to come finish her schooling must have been difficult.

"Hello, Ginny!" Luna chirped. "May I sit with you?"

"Of course, Luna. How have you been? I hadn't heard back from you after my last owl, what was it, almost a month ago?"

Luna settled in, her spangled purple robes and yellow shoes clashing wonderfully with her red radish earrings and white-blond hair.

"Things have been very busy. My father took ill several weeks ago – I think it has something to do with the high Wrackspurt population in the forest around our house. You know, they make your thoughts all fuzzy, and my father is having trouble remembering things, like when to eat. It was very taxing to look after him and keep on top of _The Quibbler_." _The Quibbler_ was the off-kilter magazine published by Luna's father. It contained sensational stories, from rumors about vampires infiltrating the Ministry of Magic to rampaging Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Elephant-and-Castle. Hardly anyone took it seriously, but many read it, as it provided a bit of amusement in contrast to the harsh headlines of _The Daily Prophet_ as of late.

"Have you been running the paper then?"

"Oh yes. It has been quite fun. Very enjoyable. I've mainly been doing editing, but since my father's condition has worsened, we had to hire someone to help run the printing press. Father does like to do things the hard way, sometimes. He simply would not let me charm the blasted thing to run on its own." Luna's voice, before the war, hardly ever gained the harsh edge it had now, a testament to her lost naivete.

"Is there someone looking after him now, then?"

"Your mother owled us a few days ago, actually, recommending the son of one of her cousins or something like that. He's skilled in basic medical care and will be helping my father with his daily life, until he gets back on his feet. I did hate to leave him, though." The far away look in Luna's eyes faded a bit, hardened, and then was back in full force. "But I'll still be helping with _The Quibbler_. It's become so much more popular since the war. People are finally realizing that Nargles are about. We ran a special just last week that was suggested by one of our new readers, on dwarves in northern Wales that are secretly plotting against the Muggle Prime Minister of Wales. Imagine that! We caused quite a racket when we exposed them."

Ginny had no doubt that whatever racket the article had caused died down immediately once people realized the source of the rumor was _The Quibbler_. No one took it seriously.

The rest of the train ride passed in companionable chatter. Luna had also been advanced, but was taking an odd assortment of classes. The only one she and Ginny had in common was Herbology. Ginny supposed that Luna didn't need much of a formal training for her impending takeover of _The Quibbler_ as full-time editor, as would undoubtedly happen upon her graduation, especially since her father was doing so poorly. When the time came to change into school robes, they did so quickly, and finished putting away the last of their assorted items just as the train screeched to a halt at the Hogsmeade train station.

The two women quickly made their way to the rows of waiting carriages, ready to take them up to the castle. Hagrid's booming voice could be heard above the din, and Ginny waved an enthusiastic hello to him before forging a path through the milling bodies, Luna on her heels. Ginny stopped dead suddenly, shocked by the horribly beautiful creature that had just come into her view. Luna and Harry had told her about the Thestrals, and she had ridden one in her fourth year, but until now she had never seen one. Great, winged horses, skeletal and covered in a thin layer of blackened hide. Their eyes, glowing, haunting. They were shocking, yet absurdly serene and alluring. Some of them ruffled their long, angled wings in impatience as students climbed into the carriages; others pawed the ground or nuzzled one another as they waited.

"Luna! They're –"

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

Ginny nodded in awe as they made their way to the closest one. She reached out a pale hand hesitantly, and the Thestral sniffed her outstretched fingers before nudging her with his nose. Ginny patted the rough ride, surprised to feel the warmth of the creature and the suppleness of the skin. It snorted suddenly, and Ginny was shocked out of her reverie, back into the crowded station. Luna was already seated in the carriage when Ginny sat down next to her. They were joined by two students Ginny could not name in her distractedness, whom she nodded her acknowledgment to and settled back into her own thoughts, unaware that one of the two was watching her closely.

Before Ginny realized it, she saw Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looming ahead. The castle was somewhat brighter than she remembered it; but then again, she had last seen the imposing structure during dark times, very dark times. Even though it would seem nearly empty this year, it was still a brighter place. Snape, the Carrows – they were gone now, and wouldn't be tainting the magic within the walls any longer. The masonry, demolished by giants and cracked by curses, was repaired. The stone looked more worn, but as sturdy as ever. The glass had all been replaced. Plants and trees were planted anew. The grounds were healing.

Clambering out of the carriage at the front doors, Ginny patted the Thestral on the neck absentmindedly and it nuzzled her, nipping playfully at her robes. She smiled, and headed up the steps to the entrance hall.

The Great Hall was colourful and airy; the enchanted ceiling let in all the light of the sunny day outside, and birds flitted across her field of vision. Instead of the house banners that usually decorated different parts of the hall, conglomerate banners of black, yellow, red, green, and blue brightened the corners of the room. Promoting House unity, no doubt. And yet, the Slytherins, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws all separated as they sat down at the four long tables in the hall. Ginny was not surprised to see Hogwarts still segregated by house. Old rivalries are hard to overcome.

Everyone settled in with a quiet buzz of conversation, catching up on each other's summer activities. A cursory glance around the room revealed that Ginny was the only Gryffindor seventh year who had returned. The giggling girls that Ginny was usually roomed with had disappeared, probably sent abroad for their last year. Colin Creevy, Ginny's one Gryffindor friend from her year, had died in the final battle. It appeared that none of last year's seventh years had returned to finish interrupted schooling. No Neville Longbottom, nor Dean Thomas. No Seamus Finnigan. And certainly no Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ginny's brother, Ron. Ginny was all alone this year. The thought simultaneously thrilled her and scared her. No one looking at her as merely being Ron's overprotected little sister. No one to skirt around her for fear of her brothers. No one to share her room with and keep her awake with their snoring or giggling. No one in her house to turn to for help. No companionship within her dormitory. Luna, three other Ravenclaws, and a couple of Hufflepuffs, most of them Muggle-born as Ginny remembered, in their year were back, and no Slytherin seventh years. Well, almost no Slytherins. A single Slytherin had returned. A seventh year last year, Blaise Zabini had come to finish his interrupted education. Eight seventh years. One of the smallest classes Hogwarts had ever seen enter NEWT levels. Four Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and a Gryffindor and Slytherin apiece. Ginny smiled to herself, musing. It certainly would be an interesting year.

The welcome feast was delicious, as always. Ginny wasn't as hungry as she had thought – the food was appetizing, but scarcely a few bites in, she put her fork down. Knowing she would be hungry later, if not now, she tried to force herself to pick at the delicious food in front of her.

Professor McGonagall, Headmistress now, stood up to give a short speech, welcoming new and returning students, and lamenting that so many had left them. Introductions of the new Head Boy and Girl left Ginny giggling slightly. Luna had been made Head Girl, for some unfathomable reason. It wasn't that Luna was a troublemaker – far from, in many cases. It was just that prior to the war, most had dismissed her as being rather insane. Loony Lovegood, they had called her. Presumably, the younger students would listen to her now, as she had proven herself very capable of taking charge in difficult situations. She had earned the respect of all those who had seen her battling the Death Eaters the previous year.

Head Boy proved to be one of the two Hufflepuffs, a plump boy called Peter Bibbey, a merry redheaded lad whom Ginny supposed would make a fine addition to the ranks. Two prefects per house were also announced, and then Quidditch Captains. Ginny was the eldest of all the Captains, the only seventh year. There were two fifth years and a new sixth year captaining the other teams, and Ginny sized them up silently as McGonagall continued with her speech.

She glanced around all the tables for the first time, looking for more than just familiar faces. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables were the most populated, followed by Hufflepuff. Scarcely twenty Slytherins were seated at the far table; unsurprisingly, many of them had been killed or run off, or else sent to Durmstrang, which was very well known for its tolerance of the Dark Arts. They would have difficulty getting together a House team for Quidditch, no doubt. But then again, many of last year's members seemed to have returned. They would only need to replace their Seeker and Keeper, it appeared. With any luck, Ginny's team would crush them anyway.

Not too long later, McGonagall announced that the feast was over, and the students trudged up to their dormitories. Caught between wanting to poke fun at the new first years who had never seen Hogwarts' magic and wanting to go immediately to her room to unpack, she settled on following the new students for a little ways before slipping behind a tapestry of goblins doing handstands, one of her favorite shortcuts up to the common room. As it was, she had to wait a few minutes until a prefect came along to tell her the password, all the while chatting amicably with the Fat Lady, the portrait who guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitories.

"Dragon tongue."

The Fat Lady swung forward to admit Ginny and the prefect, a fifth year by the name of Harold, into the cheerily lit room. Ginny nodded her thanks to the skinny boy as she made her way up the staircase to the left, towards her room. Rather than a plaque reading "Seventh Years," as she had been expecting, the door at the top of the staircase read "Ginny Weasley." The door opened under her touch, and Ginny sensed some magic afoot in the brass handle; no doubt it had been spelled with new security wards that would allow only her into the room.

Opening the door, Ginny was shocked. The room was smaller than the dormitory she had lived in last year, but it was still quite large – much larger than her room back home. Unlike the rest of the dormitories, this room was not painted and decorated in reds and golds. The walls were a pale yellow, almost white, and the curtains were a lush shade of green, reminiscent of fresh grass in the twilight. A matching rug was under her feet, and in the corner closest to the door, a small fireplace was flanked by an overstuffed loveseat of a darker green fabric and a sturdy and aesthetically pleasing table. A large bed occupied the center of the room, with large fluffy pillows and a pale yellow comforter with green trim. Fresh flowers stood on a beautiful wooden wardrobe with a clear mirror hanging above it. A door across the room opened into a bathroom done in shades of white and purple.

Opening the wardrobe, Ginny saw that her belongings had already been unpacked, and her Firebolt leaning in the far corner next to a tall bookcase and desk holding all of her textbooks and supplies. Slipping into the bathroom for a shower, Ginny luxuriated in the warm water for many long minutes before getting ready for bed. She was wearing one of Fred's old Beater jerseys and a pair of loose shorts as she turned down the bed. The room had cooling charms placed on it, warding against the late summer heat, and making the chamber briskly chill, just cool enough for the blankets on the bed to be useful and comfortable.


	2. Chapter 2

Ginny fell asleep after several long minutes between the soft cotton sheets, to awaken only when her alarm went off at eight o'clock the next morning. She groggily dressed in her muggle clothes, covering them with her school robe. It was worn, but not nearly as threadbare as her robes had been the previous years. For this she was thankful. Her jeans were thin and soft from years of wear, having been her brother Bill's before her. Bill was lean and thin, making the jeans a perfect fit for Ginny's hips. The weather was slightly cooler than yesterday, but still warm enough for the old tee-shirt she had slipped on. She bore scars across her back from a particularly painful curse that was slow to heal. The curse, cast by Anton Dolohov during the final battle several months ago, had been a variation of a Death Eater favorite, Sectumsempra. It had hit her in the shoulder, and covered the upper third of her back, down her upper right arm, and halfway across her chest with deep cuts in a spider web pattern. The wounds had mostly healed, but they were angry red at the point the spell had hit. She kept them covered as much as possible to avoid the staring, but oftentimes clothes were uncomfortable, particularly in the heat. They extended somewhat up onto her neck, but they were not immediately noticeable amid her fiery locks. The sun was shining brightly as she threw her rumpled hair up into a haphazard bun, the wily curls escaping easily and refusing to cooperate.

Making her way down the staircase, Ginny saw several other early risers flitting down the stairs ahead of her, emerging into the common room in various states of awareness. Ginny slipped past the curious faces, many of them unfamiliar. A mild mystery still surrounded those involved in the downfall of Lord Voldemort, including Ginny. She dismissed the looks with a weary shake of her jewel bright hair, and slipped out of the portrait hole quietly.

The Great Hall was relatively empty as Ginny sat down at the Gryffindor table and began buttering a slice of toast. Not long after she had started eating, Headmistress McGonagall came down from the staff table to speak with her. She handed Ginny her schedule and another sheaf of parchment, which proved to be a list of several names.

"I trust you'll find, Miss Weasley, that the Quidditch team is no less popular this year than in the previous terms. That list is comprised of no less than seven students who have already approached me about joining the team. I suggest you hold tryouts straight away, unless you want to deal with some very disgruntled students. Also, the Board of Governors and I have come to the conclusion that we will be opening up the House Teams to first year students, providing they pass their flying lessons with satisfactory results. Madam Hooch will be informing them individually whether or not they are qualified to try out, and will be providing you with a list of those she deems eligible. It would be unwise to offer a position to any other first year than the ones on that list. We don't want to have another Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom on those broomsticks." A small, pained smile crossed the Headmistress' features.

"Thank you, Headmistress," Ginny said enthusiastically, trying to bring the woman's thoughts back to a happier place. McGonagall nodded and left her to finish her breakfast and peruse her schedule.

Monday: Herbology 9:00-12:00; Transfiguration 3:00-5:00

Tuesday: Potions 9:00-12:00; Ancient Runes 3:00-5:00

Wednesday: Defense Against the Dark Arts 9:00-12:00; Herbology 3:00-4:00; Ancient Runes 6:00-8:00

Thursday: Defense Against the Dark Arts 3:00-5:00; Herbology 9:00-10:00

Friday: Potions 9:00-12:00; Transfiguration 3:00-5:00

Her Thursdays would be the only day Ginny could sleep in, and the nice break between dinner and Herbology would be perfect for a quick Quidditch practice once the season began, alongside weekend practices. Her schedule was a nice medium – a glance at Luna's informed her that Ginny had indeed made the right decision in taking fewer classes; Luna's schedule was bloody packed. Even though there were only eight NEWT level students, Luna was only in two of her courses: Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts. The classes would undoubtedly be very small. A glance at her watch was all it took to get Ginny out of her seat and back to her dormitory to grab her things for Herbology, which started in barely twenty minutes. On her way out of the common room, Ginny magicked the Quidditch tryout sheet to the bulletin board and hurried down to the entrance hall to meet Luna.

Professor Sprout seemed unchanged by the war until you looked into her eyes. She was getting old. Rumor had it she had been grooming Neville Longbottom to take her place in a few year's time, but then he had been ruthlessly murdered just weeks after the final battle, while doing some grocery shopping with his grandmother. With his arms full of groceries, he had been unable to reach his wand in time, and the six Death Eaters had murdered him and his elderly grandmother with such a variety of different curses that the bodies had been unrecognizable. Identification had been made based on his grandmother's hat with it's large stuffed eagle and the new wedding ring Neville had been wearing; he and Padma Patil had eloped merely days after the final battle, much to his grandmother's pleasure at her grandson's courage.

A pain shot through Ginny as she remembered the party Padma and Neville had thrown once they had gotten back. There had been a telltale bulge in Padma's robes that Ginny supposed had been of great comfort to Padma in the months since Neville's murder. Shaking her head, Ginny tried to focus on Professor Sprout, who was undoubtedly feeling the absence of her favorite student just as badly as Ginny was missing the presence of one of her close friends.

The first lesson passed quite quickly, Sprout merely outlining the plants they would be studying – "Some of them are active only during the evening, which is why you'll notice that your schedules have you out here Thursday evenings." – before setting them to the task of fertilizing the Venemous Tentaculas at the rear of Greenhouse Three. Ginny and Luna had been joined by one of Luna's housemates and a single Hufflepuff.

Class dismissed a little early, and Ginny bid goodbye to Luna as she headed upstairs to clean up the dirt from Herbology before heading down for a brief lunch. Shockingly, as Ginny entered the common room, she saw that the Quidditch tryout sheet had already been half-filled with names, including the seven that McGonagall had given her. It would be difficult to weed through the hopefuls this year, but Ginny felt relatively confident in her ability.

Sitting barefoot on her bed in fresh robes, Ginny cracked open her Transfiguration text from her incomplete sixth year, which had belonged to Bill; Ginny was lucky that they had not come out with a new edition of the spellbook, as his notes were quite useful. Thanfully, Bill had not had the aversion to writing in textbooks like Percy or Hermione, and she knew Bill's handwriting immediately – there would be no confusion and unnecessary consequences of following his tips, unlike Harry Potter's mishaps with Snape's old textbook last year. She perused the material she had not yet covered, and attempted several of the spells, with relative success. She only managed once to turn her her sock into a rabbit instead of the beaver that was intended. Transfiguring the toothed creature back into her sock, Ginny lay down for a few minutes of reflection before she headed down to class with the Headmistress herself.

She still didn't want to be here; but where else could she have gone? So many competent wizards had been killed during the war, and more were needed. Wizards that could be counted upon to know what they were doing. It was Ginny's responsibility to be one of those wizards the world so desperately needed. But where would that take her? An Auror like Ron? A teacher? A Healer? To the Ministry of Magic like Percy had been headed? As a Muggle liaison between scarred worlds as Hermione suggested? To a corporate job in a place like Gringotts Wizarding Bank, following Bill? Ginny had no idea what she wanted to do after she graduated. The past couple of years, when she should have been focusing on her career path, had been clouded by the war; Ginny had scarcely spared a thought to the after, being so focused on the deadly now and painful before. Maybe she would roam across the mainland, working alongside Charlie with dragons. Or enter in as an assistant to her father at the Ministry. Maybe she should ask McGonagall about apprenticing as a teacher. Slughorn and Sprout were both getting old, close to retirement, and Ginny had flawless marks in both Potions and Herbology. She would never be as talented as Neville or Severus Snape, but she had a natural ability. But did Ginny really wish to be trapped in Hogwarts for years to come when she didn't even want to be there now? Maybe she could go abroad; with Fleur (Bill's Veela wife) tutoring her, Ginny had become rather fluent in French, and she had a flair for language. A ministry employed translator, maybe?

The more she thought about it, the less Ginny wanted to do with the Ministry. It was on the up and up now, but remnants of its takeover by Death Eaters were still in place, and its compromised actions and discriminatory policies were still fresh in everyone's mind. Still – there were so many options out there, and Ginny wanted little to do with any of them.

She sighed and looked out the window from her languid position on the bed. The tops of the trees of the Forbidden Forest brushed the deep blue of the summer sky, brushed over with wisps of white. Already dreading her final year, Ginny roused herself and slipped out of her bed, her toes digging into the luxurious carpet as she stretched briefly. Slipping her socks and shoes on, she glanced at the clock: twenty minutes to get down to the classroom that Transfiguration would be held in. Grabbing her bag packed with quills, ink, parchment, her text, and Ginny's guilty pleasure – Muggle ballpoint pens – she headed down the stairs and out the door, into the pleasantly drafty halls.

Slipping into the classroom a few minutes before the start of class, Ginny sat down at one of the tables, two from the right, one row back – her favourite. Before long, the other students entered. The two Ravenclaws from her Herbology class – Terry Boot and Maggie O'Donnel – sidled in and sat together in the front of the room to Ginny's left. Entering just moments before McGonagall herself, Blaise Zabini walked in, sitting down at the back of the room. McGonagall, with her spectacles perched on the end of her nose, tutted and shook her head.

"This won't do. There are only four of you. Mr. Zabini, Miss Weasley, up front next to your classmates." She turned to write something on the chalkboard, leaving Ginny and Blaise to move. Ginny merely moved forward one table, and after a few moments of hesitation, Blaise joined her at her table. The four of them were now front and center. Ginny shifted uncomfortably. She had never had much interaction with this particular Slytherin, aside from a couple of snide comments about Harry Potter and her blood in the Slug Club a couple of years ago, but he hadn't spoken much, and Ginny suspected he had not associated very often with the more extreme members of his house. But she had had some unfortunate incidents with his housemates. She had been on the receiving end of far too many curses from the likes of Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco Malfoy to be entirely at ease around one of their friends. She was somewhat comforted by the fact that Hogwarts had been screening students a little more intensively, and the fact that even Malfoy had feared her Bat Bogey Hex. Not to say that Hogwarts was discriminating against the children of Death Eaters, but, well, perhaps they were. All of the students who had fought alongside the Death Eaters at the final battle were refused readmittance; only those students with no clear ties to Dark activities or intentions to harm were allowed to come back. Ginny had read something in the Daily Prophet over the summer about the new stringent security in place at Hogwarts. In addition to new wards and school policies, all those students who were under suspicion or whose families were under suspicion were questioned using regulation Auror tactics, including the administration of Veritaserum, which had been reinstated as an accepted practice for this particular case.

If Blaise Zabini had been permitted to return to Hogwarts, it meant that he had nothing to hide. Well, no Dark activity to hide; everyone had secrets. Ginny had her fair few, and she could only hazard a guess at those that Blaise kept. However, she was knocked out of her wonderings by the shrill tone of McGonagall's voice.

"Alright, seventh years. This term, we will be covering a variety of human transformations, as well as more complex magic, transforming much larger objects than you are used to into living, breathing objects, rather than the other way 'round, as you are doubtlessly familiar with. We will be covering more nuanced Transfiguration, such as complex vanishing and switching spells, changing only certain aspects of an object's appearance or nature. You will be studying closely the theory of conjuring, and we shall explore Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. In addition, as there are so few of you, you will be working with a partner on a special project that we will discuss one on one. Later on in the year, before the holidays, we will transition from traditional classwork to independent study; all of next term will be dominated by your project, so make it something interesting, and make it something difficult. I trust in all of your ability. The four of you were chosen to continue in this particular course due to your exceptional talent. Several of you have a natural ability for Transfiguration, and some of you are extremely powerful, moreso than you might imagine. For this reason, the Board of Governors, as well as all of the professors, have decided that you be given this opportunity. As we phase out of the traditional class, you will be given a list of topics that commonly appear on the NEWTs, and you will be expected to keep up with your lessons in addition to your independent projects. Now, as for partners, I see no reason why you four can't work in the pairs you are currently separated into."

Ginny glanced to her left to see Blaise Zabini casting a curious stare at her. She refused to allow herself to blush, but undoubtedly did so despite her effort, as the corner of Zabini's lip twitched upward. Damn that Weasley blush.

"Now, you four, as three of you were advanced from an incomplete sixth year, we will be spending the majority of the first half of this term in review, catching you up on what you missed last year. Mr. Zabini, if you can demonstrate your mastery of the skills we will be teaching beforehand, you will not be required to attend these lessons, though you may choose to do so. Now, let us commence."

Ginny, for the most part, paid attention to McGonagall's lesson, even taking a few scant notes. The strict professor had said nothing about Ginny's use of a Muggle pen and paper, but her lips had twitched in a not unpleasant way. Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, as well as the two Ravenclaws, had given her odd looks as they each uncorked a bottle of ink and took out their bound parchment notebooks. Ginny smiled to herself, shaking her head good naturedly, copying down notes with more ease than her ink-dipping classmates. She remembered most of what McGonagall was saying from her first term last year, but paid attention nonetheless. It wouldn't do to miss this review that she would most likely need as they moved on to more advanced magic.

The first three weeks passed quickly, with Ginny picking up on more and more that she had missed last year, thanks to McGonagall's review lessons. She continued to sit next to Zabini, who was courteous but less than open. They had shared a few civil conversations, but spent very little time interacting.

In the sixth class of the term, McGonagall once again brought up the group projects, which Ginny had scarcely thought about since the first day. The next hour passed quickly, and McGonagall allowed them to split off into their groups to discuss possible projects. As Ginny and Blaise sat in silence for a couple of minutes, unsure how to begin, they heard murmurs from the Ravenclaws. Ginny caught something about Gamp and his law about conjuring food. It seemed the intelligent duo was planning an experiment to test Gamp's laws.

Ginny looked around the room for inspiration, and caught sight of McGonagall herself, who was looking over her notes and playing with a loose string on her robes. Her cat-like tendencies no doubt carried over from –

"Animagi," Ginny murmered, struck with inspiration. "Blaise!"

He looked up sharply, not ever having heard his given name uttered by the redhead.

"That's it. Animagi. We'll become Animagi as our project." His lack of response had Ginny worried that he would think the idea useless, when suddenly his dark eyes crinkled and a small grin played on his lips.

"Perfect," He whispered, nodding his agreement.

"I take it you have settled on what you would like to do, Mr. Zabini, Miss Weasley?" McGonagall wore an amused expression at seeing the two grinning students before her. At their nod, she beckoned them into her office.

"Now, what is it you two would like to study?"

Blaise jumped right in; it was the first time Ginny had ever heard him speak more than a couple of words at a time, and was surprised by the deep timbre of his voice. "We'd like to study the magical process of becoming an Animagus."

McGonagall suddenly grew very serious. "You do know that the process is amazingly complex, and dangerous. The two of you are exceptionally skilled wizards, but you must be aware of the risks. Are you both certain that you wish to pursue this line of study?"

At their nods, she grew silent for a minute, looking between them as if trying to convince herself. "Very well. As you both know, I am an Animagus. I will be available for questions and counsel, but you will be required to do the research on your own. I would ask that I be present if and when you decide to try the actual transformations, and, as I am sure you are well aware, I will be reporting your studies to the Ministry. After the war, when Pettigrew's Animagus status was made known, the Ministry started regulating this particular form of magic even more strenuously. They require that every witch or wizard put forth their intentions to become Animagi before starting the difficult process. If you do manage to transform, you will be required to undergo a short inquiry by the Ministry, so they can ascertain your forms, the strength of your transformative ability, and any particular markings you may have. If you ares sure of your commitment to this project," – they nodded again – "then I will notify the Ministry immediately. You will most likely receive forms to complete before the week is over."

They thanked her profusely, looking at one another excitedly. McGonagall dismissed them, and the unlikely duo found themselves babbling about the possibilities of this project.

"What do you think your form will be?" Blaise asked suddenly.

"Hmm. I dunno. I read somewhere that the Animagus form can usually be foreshadowed by the form the wizard's Patronus takes, so I assume I'll be a horse."

"You can cast a Patronus?" Blaise's eyes were wide with wonder.

Ginny nodded. "It's not very difficult once you get the hang of it. I learned my fourth year."

Blaise was still a little in awe, shaking his head slightly.

"I've never been able to get a corporeal Patronus. Glimmers, yes, and the odd large shape, but nothing solid."

"It took me a few months to get it, but once I did, the shape was very much a horse. Although, I know periods of upheaval can change the form – the war changed my brother's, as well as a couple of friends'. They're different now. I haven't cast one since the battle. I have no idea if it's still a horse or not."

"Well, go on then. Do it."

"Can't do magic in the halls, Blaise."

"Fine, we'll go outside. No one will think to look for us there, what with dinner starting soon. They won't stop to think that there will be two students illegally practicing obviously powerful magic instead of stuffing their faces." He grinned, and Ginny suddenly decided that she liked seeing a Slytherin smile. _Maybe Blaise wasn't so bad after all_, she thought as she nodded.

The two slipped out of the doors as a Herbology class came through them, headed for the Great Hall. They wandered down to the lakeside, and sat down on the grass by a strong, graceful willow tree, the tips of its branches skimming the otherwise still surface of the lake. Hit by strong memories of Harry's tribulations at this lake, Ginny felt a surge of power, a thirst to prove herself that had begun emerging in her personality since her possession by Tom Riddle her second year.

"You do yours first," she told Blaise. "I want to see what you can do."

He screwed up his face in thought for a moment, and Ginny saw his body tense as he swished his wand half-heartedly. A silver mist sprung from the tip of his wand. It was half formed, something ethereal and incomplete, yet surprisingly solid.

"That's not bad, Blaise. Better than I did when I was first learning. Try relaxing your body as much as possible while you're casting. It helps if your mind is relaxed and clear when you're first starting."

He nodded and composed himself. A few seconds later, a silver something, much more defined than before, erupted from his wand. It had legs, four of them, and a large head. The rest was too blurry to tell.

Ginny exclaimed wordlessly in excitement, then turned to Blaise with a grin on her face. "See? Just relax!"

"Okay, Red, your turn." Ginny blushed a bit at the nickname. No one had called her Red since her brief relationship with Dean Thomas, ages ago.

Ginny cleared her mind, allowing a relative calm to settle into her bones. She searched for a happy memory, and settled on the day she had been reunited with her family after the war. Although there was some sadness to it, the memory betrayed a strong sense of relief and bliss at having so many of her loved ones relatively unharmed. She muttered the incantation and flicked her wand. A large silver bullet flew from her wand, literally. A large bird of some sort, Ginny couldn't get a close look, flew in circles around them.

"So much for your horse, Red."

"Well, war changes people," she murmured, awed by the bird. As it slowed down, Ginny reached her arm out and saw rather than felt it settle its surprisingly large claws on her arm. Blaise's eyes widened.

"It's – it's a phoenix, Red."

And indeed it was. Gone was the strong, leanly muscled horse of her past, and in its place was a beautiful, swanlike bird. The silver of its plumage seemed to pulsate red, but every time she focused on a flash of color, she was met with only a disturbingly solid silver mist. She reached out a hand to touch it, and it disappeared suddenly as her hand would have made contact with the feathery surface of the animal.

Ginny leaned back against the biting bark of the willow. "What about you, Blaise? Did the war change you?" she asked, absentmindedly, still staring at the place her Patronus had disappeared.

"We have never had much interaction, have we, Red?" he bemused fluidly.

"No, we have not. Apart from Slughorn's little parties, I never saw you."

"So you are not aware of my alliances before the war, nor my personal beliefs?"

"Not at all," she murmered, briefly wondering where this conversation was heading.

"Would you, based on your limited knowledge of me now, believe me if I told you the war had changed me a great deal more than I had expected?"

"You have yet to present me with a reason to not trust you. So, yes, Blaise. I would believe you."

He nodded grimly, and was silent for several long minutes. Ginny was about to change the subject when Blaise broached it again. "Do you remember the tale Slughorn wove of my life during his little tete-a-tetes?"

"Vaguely."

"Well. My mother is an exceptionally beautiful witch, by all accounts. She holds a certain attraction for men, particularly rich men looking for something pretty to hang off of their arm. She has been married a grand total of eleven times since I was born, each dying under suspicious circumstances. I am not aware of how many there were before that, nor how many lovers she had taken outside of marriage. I am not entirely aware of my patronage or birthright, despite my suspicions, and my mother, partly due to her associations with the rich and powerful, raised me under the assumption that I was pureblood. I do not resemble any of her pureblood husbands.

"When I was seven, my mother married a distant relative of the Black family, an elderly man with impenetrable morals. She remained married to him until my third year, by far a record accomplishment for her. At that age, I was very impressionable. The man was not involved with Dark magic, as far as I am aware, but he held a certain level of prejudice towards Muggles and Muggle-born wizards. He made certain that I was indoctrinated in those beliefs, and by the time I started here at Hogwarts, eight long years ago, I was the perfect example of a pureblood. Versed in language, dance, the arts. I knew my place, and I kept to it quite easily. I was expected to enter into Slytherin house because it was my step-father's wish. What is less well-known about my history is the fact that the Sorting Hat had a difficult time placing me. I was never in the running for Gryffindor, but it was torn between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, unable to find real conviction within me that I belonged to Slytherin, but unable to see me finding my place among the Ravenclaws with their bookish ways. It presented me a choice, and I acquiesced to my step-father's wishes.

"I was placed in Slytherin at my request, and I became quite successful within the house dynamic. I was never close to anyone, not at all. But I was successful in my schooling, and I was associating with those whom my family had deemed my proper peers. It does not hurt my case that I inherited my mother's basic characteristics of appearance, nor that I was exceptionally talented at anything I put my wand to. I was easily a favorite among professors, and as I did not go along with my housemates in rabble-rousing, I was able to keep under the radar, to use a Muggle expression. By the time my then-step-father had died, my mother was already preparing the details of her next wedding, to a man considerably younger and considerably wealthier than her previous husbands. I believe you will recognize the name Prewett?"

Ginny nodded, shocked. "My mother is a Prewett."

"I suspected as much. Well. This Prewett was a very distant cousin of your mother's, I would presume. So distant that he was more directly blood related to the Blacks, and therefore the Malfoys, although he carried the Prewett surname and coat of arms. What is remarkable is that he, despite his close associations with the Blacks, held little regard for their prejudices towards Muggles. He worked very hard to dissuade me in the beliefs my former step-father had instilled in me, and succeeded to some level. I was, however, obliged to continue with appearances, maintaining the persona of a well-bred wizard.

"My family, Red, has been very diligent in maintaining an aura of indifference to the greater conflicts of the wizarding world. In maintaining neutrality on matters of Dark magic, my mother has been able to carve out quite a wonderful niche for herself.

"At one point in time, I very avidly believed in the caste system He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named insisted as being necessary, but this was in my youth, under the reign of my blood-obsessed step-father. In the two years my mother was married to Aviel Prewett, I discarded most of those beliefs, opting instead to assume the neutrality my mother had worked so tirelessly to preserve. I was content, these past two years, to maintain an appearance of relative neutrality, playing up both belief systems where I saw fit. As a Slytherins, I was obliged to present an image of pureblood superiority, and I did so when necessary. I am very good at fulfilling a role that is presented to me, despite any personal beliefs."

"And what are your beliefs on the war? Who was right?"

"The world isn't quite that easy to unravel, Red. Where I stand, there is no right and wrong, simply the winners and the losers. The winners then write the rules, and it is up to them to determine what constitutes right and wrong. My personal beliefs bear little weight on the workings of larger forces than myself. I prepared myself to survive no matter the outcome of the war. I would have survived, and been quite successful, had He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named triumphed, but I have been equally as successful after his demise."

"Did you fight, Blaise?"

"In the final battle? No. I left that evening, along with the younger students. I chose to protect myself and my mother, as I have been doing my entire life. In our neutrality, we were safe."

"That was rather – "

"Selfish? Yes, it was, I suppose. But I am still alive, and I do not regret my actions."

Ginny was having difficulty wrapping her mind around it.

"Did you fight, Red? Of course you did. But why?"

For a few long moments, Ginny was speechless. "I guess – they didn't want me to fight. I barely survived that night. I was hit with a couple of painful curses, and nearly bled to death. And all through the battle I was screaming inside my skull that the fighting felt wrong, that no one should be murdering their kin, their fellow man. It made no sense to me that I was there in the first place – I didn't want to be hurting others. But I couldn't not be there. I had chosen my side without even thinking. My family, my friends, we all fought mindlessly in a battle that shouldn't have been necessary in the first place. I almost gave up," she admitted quietly. "I almost gave up fighting. I didn't want to be there. But at that point it was either kill or be killed, and the only thing that was running though my veins was a desire to live. If Voldemort had won, I wouldn't have lived. My family is a big bunch of 'blood traitors,' as I'm sure you're aware. I would have been killed, painfully tortured. I knew what awaited me if I didn't fight and help in his defeat. So I fought, because I wanted to live, and I wanted others to live. I killed two Death Eaters that night. I wounded more."

She paused for several moments, here eyes prickling with the beginnings of tears that she had yet to shed since the end of the war. "I wanted to live, and I wanted to see those people that I loved, that loved me. I lost too many people that I loved that night. Two of my brothers killed, another two of them were horribly disfigured, changed forever. I tripped over friends on the battlefield, some who were dead and untouched, others mangled beyond recognition. Colin and Dennis Creevey, Parvati Patil, Cho Chang, Tonks, Remus Lupin. People I loved, people who meant something to me. There was this drive in me, as I watched some of them fall in front of me, that I had to even the score. I wanted revenge. It drove me back into the battle when all I wanted was to give up."

"Very Slytherin of you," Blaise remarked offhandedly, trying to lighten the mood. His eyes betrayed the tone of his voice, revealing more pain and emotion than Ginny had thought possible.

"You have no idea. Do you remember – " she paused, making up her mind about what exactly she wanted to reveal, "do you remember in your second year when the Chamber of Secrets was opened?"

Blaise nodded. "You were kidnapped."

Ginny laughed wryly. "Not exactly. The details weren't released. I wasn't kidnapped."

"What happened, then?"

After a few moments, Ginny continued. "I was the one who opened the Chamber in the first place."

Blaise was shocked. He stiffened next to Ginny, and as she looked into his eyes, they betrayed him as being unsettled.

"I was possessed by a portion of Tom Riddle's – Lord Voldemort's – soul. He took over my mind and my body, and I had no control over what was going on. I strangled roosters, daubed blood on the walls, and ordered that bloody snake to attack people. I had these big lapses in my memory for a while, until it was over. Riddle almost killed me, you know. Harry Potter saved me mere moments before I would have died, all of my life force sucked out of me, my body and soul contributing to the rise of Voldemort. Everyone thinks I don't know what I did down there. What they don't know is that my memory returned afterward. I started to remember that following year, seeing these halls again. No one could take those memories away from me, and I'm not entirely sure I would have wanted them gone again. But there was this darkness in me for a long time. Once you've been possessed by a broken soul, you're never quite whole again. I know I wasn't. I'm still not. I can still feel this anger, this thirst for self-salvation, that I can't quite understand. It's been there since the Chamber, and I'm not entirely sure I would be as powerful today if it had not happened. There's something about having your soul taken over that makes you stronger. I guess you either break, or you heal."

"But you haven't healed, have you, Red?"

Ginny shook her head, and the two fell into silence. Before long, the sun began its descent behind the trees, and the grounds grew steadily dimmer.

"We missed dinner," Ginny remarked absentmindedly.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really. I'll probably nip into the kitchens later, if I am."

"You can get into the kitchens, too? You're full of surprises. I assume you know about the Room of Requirement, as well?"

"Yes. I spent a large part of last year hiding in that room from Snape and the Carrows. Is it still functioning? I would have thought the Fiendfyre would have damaged the magic."

"I haven't tried it yet this year. Who set it on fire?"

"Crabbe, Goyle, one of those two idiots doing magic he couldn't control. It utterly destroyed the Room of Hidden Things as far as I am aware. The last I saw of it, the door was disappearing behind me as I was running towards the battle."

"Wanna go check it out? I love that room. I don't want it to be gone for good."

Ginny nodded, and the two stood, brushing grass off their robes. Blaise had a piece of grass in his hair, which Ginny plucked out with a grin. Walking slowly back up to the castle, the two were quiet, but it was not an uncomfortable silence.

They made quick work of the walk to the seventh floor with Ginny's intimate knowledge of the castle's shortcuts ("Fred and George _were_ my brothers, after all.") and soon emerged across from a tapestry of a luckless wizard training trolls for the ballet, complete with ridiculous tutus.

"What should we ask for?"

"How about something that will help us with our project? Just to see if it can do something."

Ginny nodded. _We need a room with books on Animagi transformations. We need a room with books on Animagi transformations. We need a room with books on Animagi transformations._ She walked back and forth in front of a blank stretch of wall three times, thinking hard on what she and Blaise wanted the room to turn into. She stopped, looking for some sign that the room was functioning. She and Blaise stood stock-still for one – two – three – minutes, and were about to give up the room as damaged beyond repair when the bricks suddenly shifted, revealing a small wooden door with iron fastenings. The two students exchanged quick glances, uncertain of the safety of the situation, before Blaise moved forward to grasp the handle of the door; the lock turned easily and the door opened noiselessly, unlike many of the doors in this castle, no matter how often Filch greased them.

The chamber within was dark, but as Ginny stepped through the door, candles burst into flame around the room, revealing a cramped but cozy area with several large bookshelves against the back wall, and a table flanked by two overstuffed armchairs. She glanced at the tall black boy who had stepped into the room behind her. The corners of his mouth were turned up, amused.


	3. Chapter 3

"I guess it still works."

Ginny nodded. "Well. Want to go ahead and take a peek?" The next day was Saturday. They didn't have to worry about getting up early the next morning. Ginny did have Quidditch tryouts early afternoon, but they weren't going to be here all night.

The two busied themselves scanning the rows upon rows of books. _Fun Gone Fowl: Mistakes in Animagi Transformations. Learning to Transform Wandlessly. The Beast Within: Interpreting your Animagus Form_. "Blaise, this is brilliant." _How to Become an Animagi: A Guide for the Interested. Great Animagi of the Eighteenth Century. Animal Magic._ _What to do When Your Animagus Form is Lacking. _Ginny pulled out several titles and took them over to the table, collapsing into one of the armchairs and cracking open the well-worn _The Beast Within_ to a random page.

_The form your Animagus takes is generally based upon personality. Animagi's Patronuses always take the form of their Animagus transformation, but the Patronus does not always predict an Animagi form. This author cautions against becoming too invested in one particular animal form; it is not likely that one will transform into the animal one is expecting. _Ginny continued reading for several minutes, which quickly passed into an hour or more. Blaise was similarly engrossed. When Ginny finally stood to stretch the kink in her spine, she looked around for a clock. Half past eleven.

"Blaise. We're out past curfew."

He looked up suddenly. He had taken out a pair of square rimmed glasses; Ginny had never known him to wear glasses, but she couldn't deny that they suited his composed carriage. He looked like a kindly historian.

"Before we go. I have a thought. I think, as part of our project, we should compose some sort of journal of our research. Just in case something goes wrong. It will be easier to correct or backtrack if we have everything written down, and McGonagall might be able to help us a bit more if we have what we know right in front of us."

"Sounds like a good idea. But are we to keep separate ones?"

"Hmm. I think I saw something in Flourish and Blotts that was kind of like an advanced diary. We can check at Scrivenshaft's in Hogsmeade, see if we can find something similar. It was a three book set; a master book that recorded everything you wrote in the two smaller books. It's nothing like Riddle's diary, as far as I know," he clarified quickly, noting the uneasiness that infiltrated Ginny's expression. "You can even keep the master one with you, if you'd like. Or we can give it to McGonagall. I wouldn't quite trust leaving it in here, seeing as the room is still trying to heal itself."

Ginny thought hard for a minute. Did she really want to get mixed up in diary magic again? She barely wrote _anything_ down since that time, not even notes in class. But if she wasn't writing anything personal in it, it couldn't hurt, right? Making up her mind, she nodded.

"We can talk to McGonagall at breakfast tomorrow, see if we can get permission to go down to Scrivenshaft's on Sunday."

"Why not tomorrow?"

"I've got Quidditch tryouts to run tomorrow. I'm going to be booked from two until well into dinnertime."

"Ah. Captain?" At Ginny's nod, he congratulated her belatedly on her appointment. "Sunday it is. We'll see if we can wrangle enough time for a visit to the Three Broomsticks, eh?"

Ginny grinned devilishly. "I was planning on stopping in, permission or no."

He looked at her appraisingly. "You really are a Weasley, huh, Red?"

"You bet, Zabini."

After a hurried goodbye, Ginny and Blaise separated, vowing to meet early for breakfast to talk to the Headmistress.

Ginny woke and showered early, around 7:30, and was walking down to meet Blaise in the Great Hall a few minutes past eight when she happened upon him walking up the stairs a floor above the Entrance Hall.

"Antsy, are we, Zabini? I'm only three minutes late," Ginny teased, grinning.

Blaise smiled sheepishly. "Just jumpy, I guess. I didn't sleep well last night." Indeed, he did look a little tired, a tad worn around the edges. "Shall we?" he gestured down the stairs.

"Of course." The two were silent on the final stretch of the journey. They ignored the curious gazes of a few scattered Hufflepuffs as the Slytherin and Gryffindor made their way – _together_ – to the staff table. They approached McGonagall silently.

Acknowledging the pair with a nod of her head and a motion to wait, the Headmistress finished her conversation with Professor Slughorn, the Potions Master, before turning to them.

"- I told the supplier that we only needed one case of shrivelfigs, but for some reason they delivered two. I'm sure you can find use for the rest. Whip up some extra Pepper-Up potion for Poppy, would you, Horace? Yes, Miss Weasley, Mr. Zabini. What can I help you with."

"Professor, Blaise and I have come up with a way to record all of our research in one central location, so we can work independently if we need to. We can keep our own records and compare notes a lot easier."

"Yes? I'm sensing there's more to this than that." McGonagall, ever the knowing.

"We were hoping to be able to get permission to go down to Hogsmeade tomorrow to see if Scrivenshaft's has what we need. Otherwise, we'd need to owl-order from Flourish and Blotts."

McGonagall looked at them appraisingly, boring into them with her sharp eyes. After a long moment, she responded. "I don't see why you couldn't nip down there in the afternoon, providing you return before curfew. I'm assuming you will be taking care of the financial end of this endeavor, and providing you have all of your work turned in on time next week, I cannot see it as being detrimental. If I find that, next week, you are in fact behind, you will receive a detention. I will inform the guards at the gate that two students will be traveling to Hogsmeade. If you have not returned by curfew, I will be informed." She gazed at them sternly over the tops of her glasses. "I expect both of you to report to me on Monday regarding your project. The time has come to begin working on them." She waved them away and turned back to Slughorn.

"Oh, and Miss Weasley." Ginny turned back to McGonagall.

"Yes, Headmistress?"

"I expect the results from tryouts today on my desk Monday, as well. The roster and your practice schedule."

"Of course, ma'am." She nodded, and Ginny took her leave. Blaise was waiting for her a few paces away, and he walked with her towards the Gryffindor table.

"What time do you want to go down tomorrow?"

"I dunno, Red. Want to make a day of it? I'm sure a break from this castle will do us some good. I know I'm sick of it already. We'll hit Zonko's, Honeydukes, Gladrags. We'll make the rounds, maybe eat at the Three Broomsticks or that cafe down by Dervish and Banges. The first Hogsmeade weekend isn't until Halloween, after all."

"That sounds fantastic. We'll have to be back around, what, seven?"

"So how about we meet at the front door around one?"

"Alright."

Blaise turned, ready to head to Slytherin table.

"Red." You glanced back at him. "Good luck with tryouts today."

"Thanks, Blaise."

The afternoon proved slightly windy, but otherwise decent. Warm enough to forgo the normal Quidditch gear; her position as Seeker did not bring her often into contact with the other balls, after all, and the pads were thin on her uniform. She would just keep her distance from the bludgers during tryouts.

Ginny shouldered her new Firebolt and strolled down to the pitch a little early, perusing the long list of names McGonagall had compiled for her. Three first years had passed their flying lessons with strong enough results to warrant a tryout. Six second years, three third years, no less than ten fourth years, and a pair of fifth and sixth years each. Familiar last names here and there, but no one that Ginny really recalled from her last incomplete term. Folding up the list and tucking it in her jeans pocket, Ginny looked up in shock as the noise from the pitch reached here ears – there were many more than the twenty-odd names on her list. Around fifty students milled in the pitch, with even more in the stands. It seemed other houses had turned out to watch, enjoying the beautiful day and scoping out this year's opposition.

Very happy for the Weasley skill set, Ginny placed two fingertips in her mouth and blew a sharp, shrill, _loud_ whistle. Everyone turned around to identify the source of the sound, and Ginny mounted her broom, zooming up twenty feet in the air to gather everyone's attention.

"Good afternoon, everyone. I see we have a lot to do today. First off, I'd like everyone who is trying out for the G_ryffindor_ team to come out on the pitch. Everyone else, in the stands." A few people shifted into the stands, and a handful joined the mob on the pitch.

Ginny instructed everyone to fly several laps, weeding out the poor fliers. Surprisingly, most everyone passed her standards of speed and agility. Once they had all touched down again, Ginny whistled.

"Good job. I hope you all know which position you are trying out for, because I need you all to separate into groups. Chasers to my back left, Keepers to my back right. Beaters in front of me. You'll be going first. I'll be putting you in pairs, then releasing a single bludger. After testing your dodging skills, you will be given a chance to do some showing off. Your goal is to aim as best and as powerfully as you can at the other Beater while you are flying, like playing catch. No maiming, please."

There were only five trying out to be Beaters, so Ginny picked the best out of the first pair of Beaters to work with the lone flier. Three broken fingers, many bruises, and, somehow, a twisted ankle later, Ginny had third year Terry Malcolm, a surprising find – there weren't many female Beaters, but she had sharp aim – and Preston Bones, a sixth year with gorilla like arms and impressive skills on a broomstick.

There was a nasty collision during the Chaser tryouts between a first year and a burly fifth year, but neither of them were particularly hurt, so the tryouts continued. From a group of nearly twenty, Ginny weeded out three: a second year by the name of Louis Mark, scrawny but with a lot of potential; Hannah Avery, a fourth year with quick hands and even quicker broomwork; and Leigh Davis, a fifth year who had tried out for the team with Ginny several years ago and had improved very much on her already impressive skills. Despite the age differences in her group thus far, they all seemed to have a mind for the sport, and her Chasers seemed to work particularly well together as she set them against the potential Keepers.

The Keeper tryouts were much less interesting than the Beater or Chasers. The Chasers scored so many goals on the first six or seven, Ginny thought she would never find an adequate Keeper. After almost an hour of embarrassing fumbles by preteens in their elder siblings' Quidditch pads, a true Keeper emerged. She saved all seven of the goals the new Chasers shot her way, blocking a couple with her feet and even her head in ways Ginny had never really seen done. Thea Pompulos, the only other sixth year to try out, became the new Gryffindor Keeper.

A wide age range. Someone from every year but first year. Ginny didn't remember ever having seen such a female-dominated group at Hogwarts, either. She would probably catch some flak for that before the season began, but hopefully they would be able to earn a positive reputation.

As the crowd thinned, Ginny gathered her new team on the pitch, looking them over.

"I would like to have a quick practice today, if that's alright with you lot. Nothing fancy, just an hour or so to see how we mesh together. One Bludger, no Snitch. Chasers against our new Keeper, Thea. Terry, Preston, aim the Bludger at each other, to knock the Quaffle out of reach, whatever. No headshots. Take a couple of laps and let's get going." They all kicked off and Ginny flew a little higher than the rest, tossing the Quaffle down to Hannah and releasing the struggling Bludger. She surveyed her team as they took off to their positions. It was an odd and unfortunate fact that she could tell which of her players were Muggleborn, or had grown up in a Muggle-dominated environment. The aftermath of the war had produced a boom in the economy which would peter out in the years to come, but parents were doting on their children for the time being. Several of her players had nice, newer model brooms. Those students were also wearing light robes over their Muggle street clothes, which was the norm for the young magical community, when they wore Muggle clothes at all (Ginny was wearing one of George's old robes over her jeans and shirt), whereas most Muggleborns opted for their Muggle clothes whenever wizard society allowed.

It was by no means a good thing to judge people by their clothes, but Ginny could hardly help but notice the differences, having grown up in the very secluded wizarding community. For all that the wizarding community claimed to be widespread and "diverse," there was very little variance. Robes were the accepted dress, there was an accepted decorum, certain practices, certain sports, and only certain areas where they could travel freely. Diverse in theory, not in practice. It was very easy to spot anyone who had not grown up within that community. Thea was one of those, for sure. She was on a very beautiful broom, but it was built for looks, not so much agility – it was more of a traveling broom than a sporting broom, probably bought by Muggle parents who knew no difference between the types of broomsticks (still, much better than the one Ginny was on the previous year), and she was wearing mesh-style shorts and dirty trainers. Her tee was obviously a favorite of hers, a jersey of sorts, bearing a team name she had never heard of, but with a picture of what Ginny recognized as a football. Ginny thought back to her conversations with Dean about the Muggle sport, recalling that it was much like Quidditch, but only involved one ball and was played on the ground; as the Keeper did an odd lunge to grab the ball, Ginny resolved to ask Thea about it later on.

Thea had saved nearly all of the goals sent her way by the Chasers, and soon Ginny had no concern about her Keeper's ability. Her Chasers communicated well. Hannah's aim could use a little work, but she was getting better as the practice wore on; in any case, she was much better than many of the others that had tried out. Louis and Leigh were living up to Ginny's expectations, but the season had hardly begun. By the time their first match loomed, she wanted the three of them to be able to keep Thea on her toes – er – broomtip. Thea was good, very good, there was no doubt, and Ginny wanted her Chasers to put up a fight worthy of her, so they would be able to smash any opposition.

Terry and Preston seemed to be in their own little world. Every third shot or so would go rocketing towards Hannah or Leigh or Thea, knocking the Quaffle from their hands or forcing them to dodge in a way that forced them to drop the red ball. The rest of the time, the two seemed involved in an elaborate game of catch that always seemed to involve just barely taking off the others' head. Ginny was pleased, very pleased.

She whistled.

"You lot are fantastic. This season is going to be great. We're sure going to be tops. Now let's get a preliminary schedule worked out so we can get the pitch booked."

A lot of scribbling, crossing out, and a broken quill later, Ginny had weekly practices on Tuesday evenings from six to eight and Sunday afternoons from one to four, stretching longer when the season approached the first game in November. McGonagall had given Ginny the match schedule the previous week. Ravenclaw v. Slytherin was in early November, followed by Gryffindor v. Hufflepuff later in the month. Just prior to the break, Slytherin and Gryffindor would compete, then Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. In March, after the thaw, the second round would begin, in opposite order. The final match would be played by the two teams with the most points amassed, winning the Hogwarts Quidditch House Cup. In short, they had until late October to prepare. She imparted all of this to them optimistically, and they seemed to share in her enthusiasm. She clapped little Louis on the shoulder and shook it encouragingly as her new team made their way to the castle, eager to discuss their prospects for the upcoming season over a long awaited dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day came entirely too quickly. Ginny stayed up reading, regretting it slightly when she woke up lying on her right side. The skin on her arm and shoulder was still very tender, and some of the cuts had opened up in her sleep; she had tossed and turned through most of the night, images of the war and Riddle running through her mind. Those bloody snakes. The basilisk, Nagini, Neville on fire, Padma crying, Fred's body, Charlie's arm, Colin Creevey, Hermione, Dean. Nightmares, so many of them. Ginny climbed out of bed at a quarter to eleven, trudging to the shower to take care of her rats nest of hair and the fresh blood on her arm and back. The Healers at St. Mungo's told her it was unlikely the wounds would ever fully heal. They might open up from time to time for years to come, but it would be much less frequent as years passed. 'It is an unknown curse with no recognized countercurse,' and the spellweavers they had on staff were currently 'entirely too overworked trying to save lives.' Ginny was no longer in danger of dying from blood loss, and the wounds were not life threatening anymore, should they open up again. So she was taught to care for the wounds and hope for the best. Ginny's mother had done what she could for the first few weeks when Ginny had no use of her arm, and then had moved on to grieving for Fred and Percy.

A shower washed away the fresh blood and some of the tension from her shoulder, but the skin of her arm and back still felt stretched, tender – her new normal. Her shoulder was stiff as she dressed in worn jeans and trainers, grabbing her cloak against the potential rain after checking out her window for the weather (it was overcast and the air heavy with anticipation). A money bag and her wand tucked in the inner pockets of her robe and her hair tied against the wind, Ginny headed down for lunch before meeting Blaise for a long day, dreary day in Hogsmeade.

Lunch was in full swing when Ginny stepped into the Great Hall. The tables were laden with food, customary on a Sunday, as was the crowding of the tables. Less ordinary was the intermingling of houses. A few Hufflepuffs at the Gryffindor table, Ravenclaws laughing over chips and waffles with their peers from Slytherin, even. Only a handful, maybe ten, but it was a sign of changing times. It made Ginny wistful to see – it was bittersweet; it took monumental death and destruction to bring these people together. It felt kind of dirty, fake. Progress, yes, but borne out of real revelation of commonality or simply force?

Debating whether or not to join in with this new theme and eat with Luna, Ginny's hand was forced in the decision by Blaise, who waved her over to the Slytherin table. She sat down next to him, casting him a quick smile and filling her plate.

"You ready for the walk? Or would you rather Apparate?"

"Doesn't really matter to me. It looks like rain, though. Did you bring your cloak?" Ginny asked as she reached for a jug of pumpkin juice, wincing as she stretched the skin of her shoulder.

"Yes," he replied, patting it where it lay on the bench next to him.

They ate in relative silence, and headed out of the Great Hall at a quarter past noon. The wind had picked up, and Ginny was grateful for her cloak as she whisked it around her shoulders. The path down to the gates was free of other students, though a few of Hagrid's odder creatures were seen scampering around. For her part, Ginny had to jump over what she assumed was a rock when it scuttled across her path on three stubby legs, and even Blaise started at something from the Forbidden Forest gave a mighty screech.

The wind blew fiercely as the odd pair left the grounds and wound their way down the path to the village of Hogsmeade, one of the largest all-magical settlements in Britain (though the population was somewhat smaller after the war). Ginny's hair came loose and whipped across her vision, stinging her face, and even Blaise was bothered enough by the gale to suggest that they Apparate the rest of the way. Ginny readily agreed, and they turned on the spot. A crushing, suffocating moment later, and Ginny breathed in the pungent air in front of The Three Broomsticks, the most popular pub in the small town. Blaise popped into being a few paces down from her, and they quickly regrouped. Scrivenshafts was just down the way, six or seven shops north of where they stood, and they quickly made their way to the warmth and familiarity of the book lined shelves.

Once inside, Ginny delighted in the scent of old parchment, decaying bindings, and ink.

"Let's find their supplies section, you reckon? I highly doubt it will be a shelved product. We might have to ask a clerk. It's probably not a common request," Ginny mused, more to herself than Blaise.

They did end up having to ask the clerk, a bony old man who reminded Ginny of Mr. Ollivander, the old wandmaker on Diagon Alley, except less... odd. He had a kindly smile and knew exactly what they were looking for when they described it to him. He bustled to the back store room and returned a couple of minutes later, wiping a thin layer of dust off of a heavy-looking box, which he placed on the counter for Ginny and Blaise to peruse.

"It's not often we get a request for these items. Most young lovers tend to stick to owls and Floo, nowadays."

"Excuse me?" Ginny spluttered at the same time Blaise exclaimed,

"What?"

"Oh, yes. That's how these journals were marketed back in the day. They work at a long distance, you see. Lovers who were parted from one another found them remarkable. A young gentleman would gift the master journal to his lady, and would write sweet nothings to her all the day long. It's a lost art, I'm afraid. I'm happy to see a young couple rediscovering it."

"Oh, s-sir, we're not interested in it as a couple –" Blaise stuttered

"We're using it to compile research for a difficult joint project. We're in different houses up at Hogwarts, you see, and we have very different schedules."

"I ran across something similar at Flourish and Blotts this summer, and thought it might serve our purposes for this project," Blaise finished.

"Ah, I see, I see," the clerk muttered with a twinkle in his eye. Ginny got the distinct impression that he did not believe them in the slightest.

With that, he excused himself to help another customer at the till, leaving Blaise and Ginny to open the cloth-bound case of the journal and its two smaller tributary journals. Ginny picked one up with some hesitancy, and cracked it open. There was no odd power surging through her, as she had felt all those years ago. This book, with its supple leather cover and soft, clear parchment pages felt decidedly ordinary in her hands, and that put her at ease.

"This will be perfect, Blaise. We'll never have to worry about not being able to compare notes at this point."

The larger journal was a beautiful peace of work, decorated in a delicate print and bound with a heavy leather cover. Blaise was admiring it still when the clerk returned.

"All set, then? Will this suit your purposes?" he said with a wry smile.

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Blaise acknowledged, pulling out his money bag. Ginny slipped hers out, as well, and the two split the eight Galleon till down the middle. The clerk bid them a good day, and the two left the shop, bundled once more against the wind, with the book wrapped tightly in brown paper under Blaise's arm.

They headed next towards Dervish and Banges, where they picked up a few odds and ends to complete their supply lists for the term. At long last they came to Zonko's Joke Shop, windows newly un-boarded and the shop itself surprisingly busy for the lack of Hogwarts students in the village. Blaise and Ginny spent an hour or so looking at all the new products, Ginny lamenting all the more the loss of her brother, when Blaise suggested dinner at a cafe near the edge of town. Thakfully, it wasn't Madame Puddifoot's.

The cafe was mainly nondescript, but they served delicious hot rolls with their vegetable soup, which Ginny thoroughly enjoyed. The Hogwarts house elves were fantastic cooks, it could not be denied, but a change of fare was always welcomed. Ginny bought drinks on the way back into town, stopping in at the Hog's Head. Blaise was surprised, to say the least, that she was on such friendly terms with Aberforth, the barman and owner. He had evacuated the school through the secret entrance in this bar, of course, but had never stopped in. Aberforth heartily supplied them with Firewhisky of his finest malt (they _were_ of age, now) and he and Ginny kept up banter and conversation until it was time to go. He also tucked a bottle of Ogden's finest deep into Ginny's bag, cleverly disguised as potions ingredients, of course, for her pleasure.

This time, warmed by the Firewhisky and cutting close to curfew, Ginny and Blaise Apparated directly from outside the Hog's Head to the gates. The guards nodded at them to enter when they didn't set off any alarms, and the two made it in to the castle with not five minutes to spare before McGonagall's curfew. They bid a quick goodnight and ran off to their respective dormitories.

The next week crept up on Ginny before she realized it. After returning Sunday, Ginny had spent the evening curled up on her bed reading and doing homework, which was where she had fallen asleep, halfway through an essay on the beneficial properties of Snippertubers (a warty, purple radish-like plant with razor sharp leaves that shot out at predators when it felt threatened) due that Wednesday. The week had been hectic, with long classes and a a tumultuous first Quidditch practice in which a bludger had broken one of her Chaser's wrists. McGonagall had loved the purchase Blaise and Ginny had made, and had looked over their research approvingly, placing them on a good course for the year. Monday came all too quickly.

A look in the mirror after her shower showed her something mildly shocking; the marks all across her back had completely opened up, not just the one or two she had grown accustomed to, and far worse than the week prior. They were almost as deep as they had been initially in some places.

After trying to staunch the bleeding a bit, but unable to adequately reach most of her back, she threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt and made her way hurriedly to the Hospital wing, halfway across the castle. Madame Pomfrey, the no-nonsense matron, was shocked out of treating a student for a nasty case of boils – no doubt an accident with the Bubotuber in Greenhouse Four – by the redhead, unnaturally pale and nursing her right arm, her shirt visibly spotted with red. The kindly matron rushed up to her, whisking Ginny behind a curtain.

"Madame Pomfrey, I just need your help slowing the bleeding," Ginny said, removing her shirt, tenderly. It was stained with blood.

"Child! We need to get you to St. Mungo's!"

"No, Madame. I've been there. I was there for several days – it was an unknown curse, and as late as the beginning of term their spellweavers were too overworked to see my case. I just need you to help me stop the bleeding. Wandwork can do nothing on these. Pressure and gauze, and I'll need a blood replenishing potion before I leave."

"Miss Weasley, are you quite sure you don't wish to seek a Healer? I am required to inform the Headmistress, as you are still a student, but since you are of age, we do not have to report to your parents, nor do we have the authority to force you to go."

"I'm quite sure, Madame Pomfrey. I know very well what I am doing. The Healers at St. Mungo's have me on their list, but as I'm not bleeding to death, they are focusing on more pressing cases. They assured me that they would get around to my case within the next two years," Ginny smiled sardonically, wincing as the nurse hit a very deep cut.

"Perhaps the Headmistress can persuade –"

"She can try, Madame, but they are under pressure from the Ministry to save as many as possible. My case is not, as of right now, knowingly life threatening. St. Mungo's, to be honest, doesn't give a shite. Pardon my language"

"My dear child –"

"It's fine, Madame Pomfrey. I would, however, beg a favor from you."

"Speak, child."

"If you have a few vials of blood replenishing potion to spare that I could keep on hand in my room, in case of a recurrence of less severity. I have gauze and salves and the like, and I am usually fully capable of handling the ministrations."

"Of course, Miss Weasley. I have a large stock. I will inform the Headmistress of –"

"Inform me of what, Poppy?" McGonagall entered the infirmary with an assortment of bottles hovering in front of her, held aloft by a charm. She entered the curtained area where Ginny and Madame Pomfrey were tending to the bleeding, making a startled noise when she saw the blood that ran in rivulets down Ginny's back.

"Miss Weasley!"

"Don't worry, Headmistress. It's from the war, nothing that happened here."

"Is there anything we can do? Surely we can take you to St. Mungo's?"

Once again explaining the situation, Ginny winced and bit back the pain as the medi-witch started spreading salve on her cuts.

"Ms. Weasley, I will certainly be appealing to St. Mungo's on your behalf, if you would permit me. I do know how backed up they are, but I am well aware of how many spell-weavers they have on staff, and how many their Ministry budget allows for them to hire. Surely they have one or two working on non-lethal cases. If not St. Mungo's, I'm sure this spell might interest some at the Ministry itself. You might find yourself with a department full of eager spell-weavers, ready to try their hand at a countercurse. I promise nothing. I am afraid my word carries far less weight than my predecessor's, but I will try to get you bumped up on the list, at least," the Headmistress finished, averting her eyes as Ginny started to dress, her arm stiff from the bandages Madame Pomfrey had applied.

An hour later, Ginny thanked the two ladies and made her way back to her dormitory with a full supply of fresh bandages, salves, and a dozen vials of blood-replenishing potion, with the promise of more, should she need it, and a pass from her morning classes.

Ginny slept through lunch and was almost late to Transfiguration one afternoon in November. She slid through the door with only a couple of minutes to spare, still a little pale and shaky from the morning. She must have looked sickly, because Blaise cast her a questioning glance; before he could say a word, however, McGonagall swept into the room, her arms filled with their essays from the previous week. Partial human transfiguration and its effects on the bodily systems. Ginny was relieved to see her satisfactory marks, and even more relieved when McGonagall allowed them the class to work on their projects.

She and Blaise moved into the back corner and pulled out their research. Ginny opened her tributary journal to a clean page and cracked open _Fun Gone Fowl: Mistakes in Animagi Transformations _to the place she had marked. After a few failed attempts at taking notes – her muscles in her right arm still weren't cooperating after this morning – Ginny, frustrated, spelled her pen into taking down everything she said.

_Do take care to concentrate very clearly on the actual incantation during the spellworking. If you focus too intently on your body, anticipating its changing, you may experience negative effects, which may take the form of incomplete or partial transformations, transformations in which the body becomes two different animals, or death._

"Well, it can kill us. That's good to know," you mumbled to yourself.

"What's that, Red?"

You showed him the passage you had just read, and his brow furrowed slightly over his glasses. He took the book from you and read on for a few more lines. "Well, I guess that's a 'no' to some pre-transformation celebration, isn't it?"

"I would say so, Blaise, I would say so." You took the book back from him with some level of difficulty, settling it back on your lap and picking up where you left off.

_Almost one half of attempted Animagus transformations end in dismemberment, disfiguration, or death. For those that are completed successfully, the registration process is arduous. It requires several lengthy forms with your Ministry of origin (as well as any other country in which you reside part or full-time) and demonstrations to the Department of Control of Magical Creatures, the Wizengamot or other comparable wizarding law body, and a panel of representatives from other Ministry departments._

You murmured notes to your pen, which skittered across the page of the journal in a passable imitation of your handwriting (though slightly more legible). Other than the occasional rustle of pages and the quiet babble of talk from the two Ravenclaws in the back corner of the room, the students in the room were hard at work.

"FINALLY!"

You jumped, fumbled the book on your lap, and it fell to the ground with a thud. You looked wildly at Blaise. Never before had you heard him be so exuberant about anything.

"Mr. Zabini, is everything quite alright?" McGonagall looked as shocked as Ginny felt.

"Yes, Professor."

"Then keep it down."

"Sorry, Professor."

He bent towards Ginny conspiratorially, tugging the book out of her hands and directing her attention towards the book in front of him.

"I've been through dozens of these books, Red. Not a one of them has outlined the actual process, the necessary spellwork and incantations. Here it is!" He poked at the page in front of her.

Written in a scrolling, difficult script in the center of the page, "exihumanus tergum bonium quod cruor utasinew dentibus procularis libidarius simul rentari is animus ein duos ut creatura intus exsisto prognatus exiviscus."

"Seems like a difficult spell. And dangerous, too, from what I've been reading. The mortality rate is through the rafters, which explains why it's so closely monitored. It takes some serious magic to be able to pull off the transformation without error." Ginny winced as she pulled the book closer to her.

"Are you alright, Red?"

"Just a bit stiff."

"Quidditch?"

"Not exactly," she forced through gritted teeth.

"Red –" Blaise began, but McGonagall called for attention before he could finish.

"Students, please pack up. Class is nearly over, and I see no reason for you to dawdle while I have papers to grade."

Ginny grimaced as she packed her bag. She was trying to lift the central journal from the table when Blaise took it from her hands.

"No unnecessary weight for you today, Red. You're going to tell me what is the matter with you. Come on." He shouldered her bag alongside his and led the way out of the room.

Blaise strolled along at a leisurely pace until they reached the stretch of wall where the Room of Requirement stood. They had been testing it off and on the past couple of months to assess whether or not it had made a full recovery. The door popped into being quickly after Blaise made his third pass by the blank wall. He led her inside and dropped their bags on a large desk. He made his way to a couch by a roaring fire, and Ginny joined him a few moments later.

Wrapping a fuzzy blanket around herself, Ginny stared into the fire as she began her tale. She outlined what had happened as she had told Madame Pomfrey not too long ago. She explained how she had been hit with a curse in the final battle here at Hogwarts, and how she lay in a corridor bleeding for over an hour before someone found her. No, she never saw who cast the curse. No, St. Mungo's couldn't do anything for her. Yes, Blaise could see.

Ginny shrugged off the blanket and her robes. She pulled off her sweater to reveal the camisole below. Her scars were clearly visible in the firelight. Blaise touched one of them, but at Ginny's slight flinch, pulled his hand back. Pulling Fred's old sweater back on, Ginny faced Blaise again.

"So, that's why I'm much of the time. It was bleeding again this morning. I'm having trouble carrying my books."

"I can help you, Red. I am more than willing to do this service for you."

Ginny cast him a shaky smile.


End file.
